Chapter 10 - The Counter-Strike
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.
Vance wasn't just a con artist who stole from bank accounts. He was a predator who specialized in isolated women with inherited property.
"My God," Maya whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sloan... this isn't a domestic financial dispute. This is a serial operation."
"Frank," I choked out, grabbing his jacket sleeve. "You said Evelyn posted his bail?"
Frank looked at his watch, his weathered face dead serious. "If she used a private surety with an expedited judicial bond, he could be walking out the doors of the central processing facility right now."
"We need to get this box to the district attorney immediately," Maya said, her voice shaking with urgency. "Forget local precinct officers. This involves multi-state fraud, identity theft, and potentially an uninvestigated homicide."
"I’ll take the box directly to the FBI field office downtown," Frank said, snapping the lid shut and tucking the heavy container beneath his arm. "I have a contact in the financial crimes division. With this evidence, they can issue a federal detainer warrant before Vance even clears the parking lot of the county jail."
"Go," I urged. "Take my car if they're blocking the driveway with the moving truck."
"No, I have my unmarked vehicle parked two houses down," Frank said. "Maya, stay here with Sloan. Keep the doors locked. Do not answer for anyone."
Frank hurried down the attic ladder, his heavy boots thudding softly as he exited through the rear kitchen door.
Maya and I retreated to the living room, drawing the heavy velvet drapes across every window. The room was bathed in dim, suffocating shadows. We sat on the sofa in complete silence, waiting for the phone to ring.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
At twenty-five minutes, the low hum of an engine rolled down Elmcrest Drive.
I crept to the edge of the curtain, pulling the fabric back by barely an inch.
A sleek black SUV with tinted windows had parked on the opposite side of the street, directly facing my front porch. The headlights were extinguished, but the engine was idling, exhaust puffing out into the cooling evening air.
Through the windshield, in the faint ambient light of the streetlamp, I saw Evelyn sitting in the passenger seat.
And behind the steering wheel sat Vance.
He had already bonded out.
My phone on the coffee table illuminated with a text message from an unknown number.
*Look out the window, darling.*
I didn't answer.
Another message popped up immediately after:
May you like
*You think you won because you called the police? You have twenty minutes to unlock the front door and bring down the fireproof box from the attic. If you don't, Greg and two of our associates are going to come through the back patio doors. And this time, Sloan, nobody will hear you scream.*
***
